


Good Enough

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Girl LP, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad learns the hard way to be careful what you wish for</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Shouldn't let you conquer me completely

Since Brad became a girl, very little has changed. He still sits on the sofa with a sullen look upon his face and Chester still wants to put him in tight-fitting dresses because he can’t think with his brain, only his dick. Neither of them are sure what’s happening or why, but that doesn’t really matter as long as Chester gets to grope Brad’s tits through his tight shirt.

You’re about caught up with the situation. Now all you need to know is that Brad can’t fucking believe this.

And that he’s watching the TV with a fixed frown as Chester’s hand inches further and further up his leg, sliding under the material of his skirt. They’ve had sex plenty of times before but this is different. This time he’s a girl and this time he’s terrified.

“Chester,” he says, but is cut off by Chester’s lips brushing against his neck. Another thing that hasn’t changed since he did is how much he wants Chester and how hot he gets when his lips brush that spot. That one “right there.”

Against his neck, his lips moving slowly, Chester says “You like that?” He slides his hand up further and slips his fingers under the material of Brad’s panties.

He jumps and shivers, pulls away saying “I’m not ready for this.”

“You’re a million and one times too late saying that, Brad.”

He pulls away again, pulling Chester’s hand from his skirt saying “It’s different now.”

Chester visibly bristles and gets up without a word. He disappears upstairs and leaves Brad to wonder if their relationship really has always been about sex.

*

He talks himself into it with the help of Jack Daniels. Sits on the kitchen table with the bottle hanging between his spread legs, his fingers wrapped loosely around the neck. He’s thinking of Chester and how it takes something this big to put everything in perspective.

And, through whiskey clouded thoughts and alcohol soaked ideas, he wonders if it’s always been this way. And he takes a moment to drunkenly ask himself – does Chester even love him?

It’s easier not to think about it. It’s easier to just take another swig and jump down from the table gracelessly and stumble upstairs. His feet are aching. Today Chester made him try out strappy high heels and, after hobbling around all day in pain, he still can’t walk in them. At the bottom of the stairs he jams the bottle under his arm and plants his foot on the step, unfastening the intricate straps of one shoe clumsily.

Staggers up the rest of the stairs and unfastens the other at the top. Kicks it down to the bottom muttering under his breath about fucking stilettos and how they’re trying to fucking kill him.

And, when he gets to the bedroom, Chester is asleep.

And, once again, Brad can’t fucking believe this.

He trudges back downstairs, his feet pulsing and his eyes filling with tears that he swipes away angrily. Another thing about being a girl – he’s so much more sensitive now. Everything is personal. And Chester hurts him a lot more now than he ever did before.

Another thing – he can’t hold his drink anymore.

He lies down on the couch, face down, tits pressed flat against the cushions beneath him. And he knows he should move but also knows that, this time two weeks ago he would have been comfortable like this so he just lies there. Miserable, drunk and in pain until he falls asleep, the bottle slipping from his hand.

*

“You look like a cheap hooker.”

His...everything...hurts. And Chester is probably right. There’s nothing lady like about his position on the couch, and he couldn’t give a fuck either way. “Go suck a dick.”

Chester laughs and so does Brad, but it’s hollow and humourless and he gets up awkwardly, kicking the Jack bottle out of the way and stumbles upstairs to bed.

*

He doesn’t think things could get any worse.

Then he gets his period.

That’s when Chester finds him sitting in the shower, fully clothed and crying. He strips down to his boxers and climbs in with him. Wraps an arm around his shoulders and whispers into his hair “It’s okay baby.”

But it’s not. And both of them know that.

*

Chester throws a box down on the kitchen table and stands back with his arms folded across his chest.

Brad looks up from his breakfast and pulls the box closer to him. His eyebrows knit together as he reads the box. “You bought me tampons?!”

“What?”

“Fuck no. I am not using tampons.”

“Why not? I thought they were what girls liked.”

Brad throws the box at him, getting up angrily and leaving the kitchen. Chester follows with a groan “Hey. Look. Brad I’m sorry it’s just. This is weird for me too you know. I thought I was being a good boyfriend.”

Turning, Brad meets Chester’s eyes and sees sincerity, love, confusion, sadness all right there in front of him. He wants to say all the right things; he wants to make them both feel better. But instead he says “I’m not using tampons,” and storms away upstairs.

*

He’s asleep when the phone rings. It’s tempting not to answer it. He hates the way his voice sounds on a morning. Rough but still un-naturally high pitched considering he’s meant to be a man. But he supposes – nothing about him right now is very manly.

When it stops ringing and then rings again straight afterwards Brad grabs it and murmurs “Hello?”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Chester?”

“Your favourite colour? Out of blue, pink, yellow and green. In pastel shades.”

He sits up and rubs his eyes, “Um. Blue. I guess.”

“Okay,” says Chester, “There’s aspirin. On the bench. I read somewhere about cramps. I dunno. I’ll see you later.”

The line goes dead and Brad flops back on the bed and tries not to worry too much about the things to come.

*

Turns out that the pastel blue that he chose was the colour of the sanitary pads that Chester bought him. The box has little flowers on it. And Brad can’t fucking believe this.

“They have wings.” Says Chester as if this is amazing news. “They were the most expensive.”

“They’re just diapers. For girls.” He snaps, “Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

Huffily, Chester says “They’re not diapers. And I just. Why can’t I do anything right any more?”

Brad sighs and picks up the box. He saunters over to Chester and drapes his arms over his shoulders. Has to stand on his toes because he’s smaller now. In every way. Chester’s arms encircle his tiny waist and their lips meet. Their touches are somewhat more tender now – Chester tries to be as gently as he can but he slips a hand around to the front of Brad’s shirt.

“Ow fuck,” Brad snaps and pulls away.

“What? What now?”

“My...tits. They’re...you’re so fucking rough did you know that?”

Chester looks offended for a moment before he steps forward and wraps Brad in his arms again. His hand slides up the back of his shirt then round to the front and up and this time Brad has no complaints.

*

The doorbell rings repeatedly which means it’s Mike. Since it happened, Brad has hidden from the others and Chester told them all he was sick. Bed ridden. He’ll call when he can.

The doorbell, it’s still ringing and it’s pissing Brad off.

He pads downstairs in bare feet wearing his old boxers and a lacy bra he thought was pretty and made his tits look irresistible. His hair is a mess since he hasn’t brushed it yet and it’s plastered to his head on one side and sticking out like he’s been electrocuted on the other. But he still opens the door snapping “What?”

Mike goes to say something but his mouth falls open and he gawps, “Um. Hey. I…is…who are you?”

“I’m Brad. We went to school together. And, just for the record, my tits won’t answer you.” Brad spins on his heel and heads back inside and upstairs, leaving Mike at the door.

The emcee wanders in, closing the door and following him upstairs, confused. Chester looks up when the pair wander in and sighs at the sight of Mike mumbling “I’m not explaining this, you can.”

So he does. The best he can. He says to Mike, “Have you ever wanted two things at once?”

“Yeah. I went to Taco Bell this one time and-”

“No. I mean. Me and Chester? We. Fucking hell this is hard to explain. I want to be with him more than anything but I’m sick of creeping around and lying to everybody. And I just kept wishing I was a girl. Kept telling myself that if I was a chick this would be easier.”

Mike stares, “You wished yourself into a girl? Bullshit.”

“If you just accept it he’ll show you his funbags for ten seconds.” Mumbles Chester into his pillow.

So Brad, he pulls down his bra and counts to ten.

*

Since Mike knows the hard part is over. Rob, he’s always stoned so he wouldn’t even notice and Joe and Dave are the most accepting people Brad has ever met so it’s okay. So that night they all go out. They’re already drunk by the time they reach the bar called Arizona which Chester sneers at but Brad slides a hand into his back pocket and squeezes his ass.

Brad can hardly walk. Forgot that he was a girl most of the night and that his body doesn’t need as much alcohol as it used to. And since Chester insisted on buying him stupid girly drinks with umbrellas and pink, red or purple shots all night, he’s pretty far gone.

Another good thing about being a girl is he has the most amazing ass to sway when he dances. Which he does. Song after song after song.

He’s not sure when the arms around his waist get there or when the body behind him started pressing against him but he’s sure it isn’t Chester. He glances back at the man behind him. “Mike?”

“Hey,” he says, “thought I’d take advantage whilst I can.”

“Where’s Chester?”

“Do you really want to know?” Mike murmurs, his voice timid.

Yes. He does. So he turns in Mike’s arms and sways with him in time to the music. “Where is he?”

“I…Brad…I saw him go out. With this guy he’s been drinking with for a while,” he sighs sadly, “He said something about normal. He wanted something normal.”

Maybe it’s because he’s a drunk girl that he’s fighting back tears. He blames the hormones and the booze and the fact that the man he really loved, the man he had changed so much for, that man was cheating on him. He had changed to make him happy, and now he was stuck like this. Miserable and alone.

And Mike says “I’m so sorry Brad.” But it’s hardly sympathetic since he’s staring down Brad’s shirt again.

So Brad throws caution to the wind. He leans in and catches Mike’s lips in a deep kiss, their tongues brushing against each other as they pressed closer together. When they break away Mike has Brad’s lipstick smeared around his mouth and he’s breathing heavily and Brad says “Do you want me?”

Mike grabs his hand and drags him away, into the men’s bathroom. They stumble into and empty stall, their lips fused together. Mike presses Brad against the closed door and slides a hand up his skirt and Brad gasps in pleasure at the sensation.

It’s all so internal and more personal than anything he’s ever done before. Since he changed he’s never even let Chester touch him like this and he mentally sighs. It shouldn’t be this way.

Mike fumbles with his own fly and helps lift Brad up against the door. Pushes into him and oh fuck it hurts so much. He’s pretty sure that his first time as a guy hurt too but this is immense. His head is spinning and his body is burning everywhere Mike touches him and this doesn’t feel good at all.

He squeezes his eyes shut to keep the tears back and bucks his hips down against Mike’s. The emcee moans loudly and shudders, saying “Brad. Oh, Brad.”

Brad digs his heels into Mike’s ass and pulls him closer, riding him clumsily and crying drunkenly and then Mike is shuddering and coming inside of him. And. It’s over. He lowers Brad from the door and kisses him softly but it’s half assed and emotionless and Brad pulls away anyway. He grabs his panties from where they’ve been flung on the toilet seat and cleans himself up with toilet paper the best he can.

When they’re both straightened out, Brad opens the stall door and shuffles out towards the sink.

And there’s Chester, his eyes wide. He looks shocked then angry then just down right sad. He says, “We’re going,” and then storms away.

Brad looks back at Mike and whispers “You lied to me.” He wants to punch him but he’s scared now. He’d be helpless if Mike fought back or if he made him do that again. So he just washes his hands quickly and hurries out after Chester, his entire body hurting and his heels clicking on the tiles.

*

When he gets home Chester is asleep on the couch so Brad shuffles upstairs. The makeup Chester had helped him apply is now smudged across his face with tears. He hurts. It wasn’t meant to be like this but there was no taking it back now.

He hates being a girl. He hates that Mike fucked him over in every way so easily. He hates that everything he has to say to Chester is redundant. So he strips off. Doesn’t remove his makeup because what’s the point? What’s the point in any of it?

He climbs into bed, and cries himself to sleep.

*

When he wakes up he knows right away that everything is back to normal. Or, most things are anyway. He doesn’t have tits and he has a dick again. His hair is short rather than hanging half way down his back. But the pain is still there - a phantom ache that is probably all in his head.

He rolls out of bed and grabs some boxers from his drawers before limping downstairs to see Chester. Wants to tell him the good news. Wants to tell him he loves him.

He shuffles into the living room and lingers in the doorway. “Hey.”

Chester looks up, uninterested, then turns his attention back to the TV, “So you’re a guy again,” he says, “you realise that this means Mike won’t fuck you any more.”

Brad sighs and steps closer, “He told me you’d left with another man. I thought he was telling the truth.”

“An eye for an eye,” Chester says, “will make the whole world blind.”

They fall into silence and Brad shifts his weight, unsure about what to do. “I’m sorry.” He says, “I really am sorry.”

Chester doesn’t even look up this time, just says “Go wash your face; you look like a cheap hooker.”

Before he leaves he wonders what would happen if he wished himself dead.

All you need to know now is that Brad can’t fucking believe this.


End file.
